


20 Days of Chub Christmas

by CaptainKate (CrazyTenor42)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Chubby Derek Hale, Chubby Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Chubby Stiles Stilinski, Feeder Derek Hale, Feeder Stiles Stilinski, Feeder!Chris Argent, Feeding Kink, Gen, Immobility, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Minor Chris Argent/Derek Hale, Omega Derek Hale, Weight Gain, will add more tags as i add chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 17,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27825949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyTenor42/pseuds/CaptainKate
Summary: A Holiday Chubby Kink Challenge:1. Bowl full of Jelly: chub!Derek/Stiles2. 2 Sizes 2 Small: fat!Stiles/Derek3. Plums&Pears: Fat!Scott/Fat!Derek/Stiles4. Cocoa w/ Marshmallows: Immobile!Derek/Stiles5. Cookies for Santa: Stiles/Scott6. Oh Fudge: Fat!Stiles/Derek>7. Stuffed like a Turkey (On the Xmas Market-): Immobile!Omega Derek/Stiles8. Snug as a Pig in a Blanket: Fat pack. Derek/Stiles9. Buttons are just Ornamental: Fat!Derek/chub!Stiles10. Tinsel Strength: Fat!Scott/Stiles11. Mulled Wining & Dining: Sterek12. Arts&Craft Services: Fat!Derek/Stiles (Part 1/2)13. Hibernation Preparation: Fat!Derek/Stiles (Part 2/2)14. Beached for the Holidays: Derek and the Sheriff15. Candy is Dandy: Fat!Derek/Stiles16. Apple of My Pie: Preg!Stiles/Derek17. How I Ate on My Xmas Vacation: fat!Stiles/Derek18. Round as a tree: Fat!Derek/Stiles19. Wrapped Up Tight: Feeder Chris:Fat!Scott, Fat!Derek20. On Thin Ice: fat!Derek/Stiles
Relationships: Derek Hale/Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 36
Kudos: 260





	1. Bowl Full of Jelly - Derek/Stiles

“Hey, I know Christmas is tomorrow and you probably have plans, but did you want to grab a coffee? Or dinner?”

“From the cafeteria?”

“I was thinking we go somewhere else? Like a date?”

Derek gave him a rare, wide smile. “Sure. Let me get out of this first, then we can go.”

He started tugging off his heavy black boots and tossed the beard into his bag. Stiles wasn’t paying much attention, trying not to stare awkwardly at him, when Derek reached under his white tank top and pulled the fat-suit out from undeath. Stiles started gaping in disbelief. 

Maybe he was too used to seeing the disgruntled, clearly fake mall Santa’s in their ill-fitting, baggy, red pants with lumpy, awkward padding, but Derek looked like the true, albeit young, Santa that had decided to come down from the North Pole. The white wig and beard were the only fake looking think about him. Derek’s suit fit like a glove. Tight, tailored pants showed off his rounded butt, while his fuzzy red jacket emphasized his heavy, round gut. Derek had the perfect Santa figure – a wider backside and a belly spreading out on his lap. Stiles couldn’t help but stare as it shook while he laughed and bounced slightly with every step, he took. Stiles really wanted to tear the jacket off, put his face into all that flab, and leave marks all over the underside of it. 

Stiles had seen Derek every day since Thanksgiving in his Santa garb and had no idea it was only padding.

“That’s not real?!”

“…no. You - wait, you thought it was?”

“Hey, it looks real, dude. I’ve never seen you out of costume.”

“Stiles, this is huge,” Derek said, poking the fat suit on the table. It quivered under his touch. Stiles stared at it in angry betrayal. 

“I know! That’s why you made the perfect Santa.”

“I’m not sure how to take that. I’m not that big.”

“You ate all the kid’s cookies!” Stiles said, hands waving in frustration. “You had cookies and milk multiple times a day, Derek. Multiple! And you have the round cheeks and your stupidly tight pants…. I figured you gained more around your middle! It literally shakes like a bowl full of jelly when you move! How was I supposed to know?”

Derek was looking incredulously at him. Stiles stood by what he said. Maybe Derek was a good fifty pounds less without the padding, but he wasn’t exactly slim. His cheeks were round, a hint of a double chin hidden by the fake beard he always had on, and there was a definite curve of his belly under his snug tank top and love handles peeking out over his pants. Without the Santa-sized belly, he was more noticeable a pear shape, his thighs and butt looking larger without the dominating midsection to even it out. 

“So…you asked me out – because I looked like Santa.”

“Yes- no. No! I wanted to ask you out because you seem super grumpy but you’re a total softie around kids and you put up with my ramblings about the history of candy canes and stuff and…Ithoughtyouweresuperhot.” Stiles finished quickly.

“You thought I was hot,” Derek repeated, “wearing that?”

“It looked really good on you,” Stiles said defensively. “Look, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Just forget it.”

“You didn’t. I was just surprised. I haven’t met anyone who wasn’t – who wouldn’t mind a little extra weight.”

“A little, a lot…I’m an open-minded kind of guy.”

“A lot, huh?” He put a hand on his stomach, then looked up at Stiles. "I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe by next year, I won’t need the padding.”


	2. Two Sizes Too Small

“Uh…I have a complaint from a customer.”

Jackson glared at him from the stove. “Isaac, if it’s about the steak I don’t want to hear it. It isn’t overcooked, no one knows what the hell they’re talking about.”

“It’s about dessert.” 

The other servers stopped what they were doing and started at him. 

“Derek never gets complaints.”

“I know,” Isaac groaned, “how am I going to tell him?” 

Isaac was the newest waiter on the staff. In the month of working at the restaurant, he sometime had to relay critiques to Jackson, who was irritable enough, but never to the pastry chef. Derek’s temper was infamous; Isaac had been warned on his first day of training not to get in his way. 

“Better get it over with,” Boyd told him solemnly. He, Erica, and Jackson all nosily followed Isaac to the back fridge where Derek was pulling out pastry crème. 

“Derek. A customer, uh, - a customer wanted me to…pass on a complaint.”

The fridge door slammed. Isaac took a step back. 

“Who complained?”

“I have no idea.” The guy had been very nice when Isaac had seated him. He requested to be sat a table, rather than a booth, and judging by his size, it was a smart decision. The man’s flannel shirt, which was a few inches shy of covering his lower belly, was stretched to the limit and forced the man to sit several inches back from the table. He looked large enough to be more comfortable on two seats, using his considerable midsection as a table. Isaac did his best not to mention anything. They didn’t have many patrons the size of this man and Isaac had hopefully, and correctly, assumed the man would order enough to make a decently sized tip off just one table. 

“He loved everything else – he ordered the fried onion appetizer, pulled pork and the carbonara special…But he said the red velvet cheesecake was ‘two sizes too small’ and said he wanted to complain to the chef.”

“Cheesecake too small? Those slices are the size of the pla- oh,” Erica broke off, grinning. “Of course.”

“I’ll go talk to them,” Derek said flatly, briskly brushing past Isaac.

“Shit,” Isaac said nervously. “I’ve never seen him go out and talk to customer.”

Erica laughed. “It’s Stiles. Has to be.”

“Stiles? Wait – _that_ was Derek’s boyfriend?” 

“Cute face, moles, roughly the size of a baby whale?” Jackson asked, ducking pack into the kitchen and narrowly avoiding Erica’s attempt to slap him. 

“He comes in like once a month around closing.” Erica told Isaac. “Stiles will order a ton of food, Derek will mysteriously leave the restaurant early…it’s their thing. You get used to it.” 

***  
“Two sizes too small? Are you kidding me?”

“It was. I’m still hungry, Derek,” Stiles whined. He started struggling with the waistband of his jeans, which were buried under his belly. It was quite a task to try and hold up his immense gut while using both hands to undo the pants that were cutting tightly into him. “That cheesecake should have been at least twice that size.”

“I sent Isaac out with about half the cheesecake.” 

“And that was a cheesecake and a half short!” He panted, giving up on efforts and flopping down on the bed, holding his blubbery middle away from his waistline. “A little help?”

It took Derek longer than usual to get the strained button free and to tug Stiles’ jeans to the floor. “Jesus, how did you manage to get these on?”

“I wasn’t as – uurp- full this morning.” Stiles burped, looking over the highest curve of his gut at Derek as he struggled to sit up. “Guess I should size up. Again.”

“Think you’re too fat for anything without an elastic waistband.” Derek put both hands on Stiles’ fleshy, stretch-mark ridden love handles and shook them lightly, his belly wobbling in response. “You’ve gotten really fucking fat, Stiles.” 

“Four-hundred and fifty-eight pounds."

“Almost five-hundred pounds. Wonder how big you'll look then. All that extra lard,” Derek said teasingly, leaning in to kiss Stiles’ double-chin. “Going to get fatter here?” He pinched the fat on Stiles’ hammock sized upper arm, “Or here?” He brushed a finger over nipple, squeezing his flabby chest as he did so. “Here?” He slid a hand between Stiles’ wide thighs. “Or will it keep blowing up that greedy belly of yours?” 

Stiles burped again and glared reproachfully. “How am I going to get fatter when you only feed me a slice of cheesecake?” 

“Half a pound,” Derek amended. “But if you think you’re up for the challenge, there’s about two pounds in the fridge.” 

“Mmmmn." Stiles moaned, already rubbing his belly in anticipation. "I'm always ready for more food. Gotta keep fattening me up, Derek. Forty-two pounds to go."


	3. Plums and Pears

“Stiles, what the hell is this?

Scott brandished his phone at him, a picture lighting up the screen. It was Scott and Derek, both having finished an impressively large lunch, asleep on the couch, leaning against each other, with Santa hats edited on them. Stiles had captioned it: My Plum and My Pear. 

“It was cute!” It fit them perfectly. They filled up most of the couch, Derek with his wide hips and heavy-set bottom and Scott with his legs spread to accommodate his enormous gut. 

“It doesn’t even make sense.”

“Sure it does,” Stiles said, gesturing to Derek who was still snoring away on the couch, “pears are bigger on the bottom and Derek has a lot of junk in his trunk and you’re – ”

“ – yeah, I get that. But no one calls someone ‘plum-shaped’.”

“You’re wider than you are tall.” Stiles pointed out, “Which makes you round and plump like a plum, Scotty.”

“Isn’t that an apple?”

“Apple, plum, orange, watermelon…what’s the difference? They’re all round.”

“Okay, watermelon sounds way worse.”

“See? Plus, you and Derek are too soft and squishy.”

“You put too much thought into this.”

“I stand by it. My plum and pear is _festive_ and adorable.” Stiles stood behind Scott, using both hands to squeeze his rear, which, as sizeable as it was, still paled compared to Derek. He hadn’t been exaggerated calling Scott wider than he was tall. Even pressed tightly against him, arms wrapped around his fleshy sides, his hands were inches away from meeting. He settled for letting his hands sink into the flabby expanse of his boyfriend’s belly, jiggling handfuls of the stretch-marked blubber. 

“Are you jealous you aren’t the pear?”

“No….”

“How about…my waddling wolves? My whale and pig? Blob one and blob two? Santas in training? My belching boyfriends? Generously portioned partners?” 

“I hate you.” Scott groaned. He took a few steps backwards until he felt the edge of the couch and collapsed down, wedging Stiles between himself and the still sleeping Derek. Stiles happily wiggled around until he was comfortably settled between the two. As Scott dozed back off, Stiles started scrolling through restaurant options on his phone and debating how much he should order for dinner. 

He was going to need a bribe when Derek and Scott awoke and read his latest caption.


	4. Chocolate and Marshmallows

“I got a surprise for you.”

Derek looked apprehensive. “Do I want to know?”

“You’ll love it. It involves food.”

That perked him up considerably, as the mention of food always did. He looked less thrilled when Stiles mentioned he had to go into the bedroom to get it. At his size, Derek was already barely mobile and it took all of their combined strength to get him to a standing position. If it was after a big meal, forget it. Stiles would need industrial equipment to move his rotund boyfriend.

“Come on, Big Guy.”

Derek reluctantly scooched himself to the edge of the couch, belly an impressively short distance from the floor, before starting to rock back and forth to build up enough momentum to stand, using Stiles’ outstretched arms for support. The bedroom was only down the hall, but it took Derek nearly a minute longer than Stiles to walk there, his entire body wobbling as he waddled along.

Stiles had set up two vats, one labeled chocolate crème and the other marshmallow crème, on either side of the bed, nearly six-feet tall and just as wide, both with slender tubes resting in the center of the mattress.

Derek’s stomach rumbled. “What is this?”

“Cream, sugar, butter, marshmallow fluff, cocoa powder, maybe some lard….you’ll love it.”

Stiles had barely finished his sentence before Derek had settled himself on the bed, holding a tube in each hand and sucking a bit from each of them curiously.

“How is it?”

“S’good.”

“Think you can finish it all? You said you wanted to hit over half a ton by next year…”

“Fuck, Stiles, yes. As big as you want me. Want you to make me huge.” Derek said, eyes dark with lust. He greedily grabbed a tube in each hand, already chugging away.

Stiles watched him hungrily. He loved fattening up werewolves. Once their healing factor kicked in, they could shovel down food constantly without stopping, metabolism kicking in to try and handle the deluge of food, turning it all into fat. Nearly twenty minutes into his binge, Derek’s stomach was solidly filled under the heavy layer of flab and he was expanding before Stiles’ eyes.

His double-chin was becoming a solid tire of fat around his neck, cheeks rounding out and giving his face an even puffier appearance. His bottom half was getting wider and wider, approaching half the size of their king-size mattress, thighs looking even wider than usual because he was sitting. Derek’s massive breasts were sagging further and further unto his truly enormous belly, which was now mere inches away from covering his knees. If Stiles had a measuring tape long enough, he would have tied it around Derek’s gut to have proof that inch by inch, the blubber was rounding him out further and further. In another few minutes, his knees would be completely obscured by fat.

Derek was a perfect model of gluttony, but they both knew he was far from his ideal size.

“Yeah, keep chugging that down, Der. Fuck, I can already tell your ass is getting bigger and you’re not even 25% done.”

“Think – _urrpp_ – I’ll fill the matt- _urrrp_ -ress today?” Derek panted. He took a few seconds to hiccup and breath before going back to his meal. He had given up alternating now, fingers getting more sausage like and arms getting weighed down with progressively more weight. Instead of guzzling down from one tube and then the next, he gotten lazy and put both tubes in his mouth, freeing up his hands to explore his expanding body.

“You might. I think that will officially make you a blob of lard. Not much longer before you’re too fat to stand. Just look at all this **_blubber_ ,” **Stiles said, using both hands to violently jiggle the mound of fat sitting in front of him. Even with both hands, it was becoming more of a struggle to fully lift Derek’s hefty paunch.

Derek moaned and bucked his hips, prevented by the mass of fat resting on his legs to actually get himself off- not that he had been able to reach his dick in the better part of a year.

“Turns you on, doesn’t it? You’re so fucking big. We’re going to need a hoist just to get you out of bed. Can’t wait to have you on all fours after this, see if you’ve gotten too fat to fuck yet.”

“Think so.” He belched. “So fat.”

Stiles started kneading the upper part of Derek’s stomach. He had gotten so big, it didn’t look any more distended than the rest of him, but when Stiles pressed-down he could feel how swollen it was compared to his lower, flabby belly. “Don’t think you’ve ever been this full. You’re doing so well. Need a break?”

“More.” Derek shook his head. “Need more.”

He went back to his binge, getting back into his routine of suck, hiccup, belch, guzzle. When both tanks were down to half capacity, and Stiles was pushed further to the edge of the bed by Derek’s fleshy sides, Derek finally started to slow down his incredibly pace.

“I’m – _urrrp_ – too full,” he gasped out, tubes hanging limply by the side of his head as he wheezed and hiccupped, trying to catch his breath. “feel like - _urrrp_ – like a fuckin’ blimp, Stiles.

“Think you might be getting bigger than a blimp. I can’t believe how _fat_ you are. You can’t even see over that gut, can you?”

“No….”  
  
“I’d say we should weigh you…but you’ve been such a pig you maxed out our scale.”

Derek looked down at his new form, lightly moving his legs and arms, feeling how much heavier he had gotten. “Not sure I’m- _hic-_ getting up after this. Might ne- _urrrp-_ need to get a bed scale.”

“That’s so hot. I’ll get you the biggest bed we can find, Der. I’m going to keep you happy and so, so fat.” He leaned over to kiss Derek, pressing up against his stomach as he did so. Derek groaned, let out a thunderous belch, and pushed Stiles lightly away.

“Can’t. Too full. Might…pop.”

“Hmmm, you might. Look at how _huge_ that belly is. I didn’t expect you to finish so much. So fucking greedy, Derek. You’re going to be my own personal mattress.”

“Not _that_ – _hic_ \- big- yet.”

“You’re getting close, babe. Think your love handles might start hanging off the edge of the bed pretty soon.”

“Can't...wait. Gonna - _hic -_ finish. Just - _urrp-_ need- pant – a few – _hic_ \- minutes.”

Stiles knew just how to encourage Derek to keep eating.

“You know, it took me forever to find a place to get all these ingredients. Not many places sell lard and cream by the bucket. I told them it was for a restaurant…how many people do you think this could feed, Der? A small army? And you’re gulping it down in one go, like you don’t care how fattening it is…How many calories do you think these have? Hundred thousand? More?”

Derek groaned. “Stiles. I know what you’re doing.”

“Is it working?”

“How muchleft- _urrrp.”_

Stiles leaned over and kissed him. “Halfway there. Think you can finish it for me?”

“Anything for – _uurrp_ \- you. I want to get immobile, for you. Need everyone to - _hic-_ know how much you’ve fattened me up.”

Derek slipped back into his food daze, mindlessly sucking down more as he closed his eyes and drifted off into a hazy food coma, body ballooning closer and closer to the edge of the bed.

When he opened his eyes again, Stiles had dragged in two more vats, filled to the brim with marshmallow and chocolate crème.


	5. Cookies for Santa

Scott was going to burst. Someone was going to poke his throbbing stomach and that would be the end.

“You’re being dramatic.”

“This job sucks,” Scott groaned. They got offered good money to a photographer and a Santa at the mall and immediately accepted the job without reading the fine print. Kids were encouraged to bring Santa cookies and milk, for sale in the food court, of course. He and Stiles had a furious battle of rock-paper-scissors and Scott had lost.

Which was why everyday Scott was stuck on the Santa throne after close, loosening the belt around his bloated belly, trying to find a position that took some of the pressure off his middle.

“Can’t you be Santa tomorrow?”

“Nope. You lost fair and square.”

“Please?” He whined. “I’ve gained five pounds already.”

“Only another three weeks.”

“And fifteen more pounds!”

“The price you pay to be Santa. The kids looked happy.”

“I’m going to explode.” Scott asked pleadingly. “A little help?”

Stiles’ took his usual position by Scott’s side, perched on the edge of the seat and started to gently rub circles into his overfed belly.

“I don’t think you’ve ever been this full.”

Scott only burped in response.

“And think, it’s only going to get busier closer to Christmas.”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“Awww, I think you look cute with the extra weight, Scotty.”

“You’re such a chubby chaser,” Scott moaned, eyes closed and leaning back to give Stiles’ more access to his belly, burping occasionally. “I know you’re enjoying this.”

Stiles laughed. “I didn’t suggest the cookies for Santa!”

“No…but I saw you sneaking those last few kids extra cookies to give me!”

“Guilty,” Stiles laughed. “But you didn't need to eat them _all_. I think you enjoy it as much as I do."

“I admit to nothing.” Scott protested, finally feeling slightly less full and able to get to his feet. “But you also owe me dinner. And a milkshake.”

Stiles patted his belly. "Whatever you say, Santa." 


	6. Oh Fudge

“How was the trip?”

“Productive.”

The Sheriff didn’t ask any further. The less he knew about the Hale’s dealings, the better. Everyone in the town knew the Hales were the closest thing Beacon Hills had to a mob. They were an old family, with a vast fortune, and lived on the outskirts of town. No one quite knew what any of the Hales did to earn their income, but they donated heavily to the community and no one could ever directly connect them to the occasional mutilated bodies they found in the woods. Otherwise, they kept a polite distance from the rest of the town.

Until Derek Hale had taken an interest in his son.

“Bring me anything?” Stiles called.

“Of course,” Derek smiled. He reached into his bag and handed the Sheriff a bottle of bourbon with a small nod. He didn’t recognize the label, which likely meant it was a top shelf and extremely expensive.

“Thanks, son.” He had given up protesting the expensive gifts Derek often bestowed on him. There was no use. Stiles said his and Derek’s relationship was more of a “sugar daddy/sugar baby” type. At the time, Sheriff definitely hadn’t been thrilled about it.

Stiles’ college bills, the Sheriff’s medical bills, hell, Derek had paid off Claudia’s hospital bills that they were still struggling to pay after all these years. It had made him uncomfortable, knowing he nor Stiles would ever be able to pay Derek back. But after months of weekly dinners together and watching his son and Derek, he recognized the looks of love and infatuation in both of them. Derek loved and respected his son and paying his bills and buying him nice things was part of his way of showing that affection. So, the Sheriff had given his blessing to their relationship.

“I got your favorite, Stiles.”

“A postcard?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Fudge.”

“Oooooh, fudge.” Stiles made a valiant effort to get himself off the couch. His stomach, at least a hundred pounds of blubber, if not more, completely obscured his thighs and prevented him from moving. Undeterred, he tried to use his hands to push him himself up, except his love handles were so wide, his arms met only squishy flesh rather than the couch. He gave up and instead made grabbing motions with his pudgy hands. “Gimmie.”

Derek needed both hands to place the shoebox sized container on the coffee table in front of Stiles.

“Thirty pounds. A pound of each kind. Maybe this time, it will last a week.”

Stiles made another attempt to lean forward enough to grab the box. With his gargantuan gut in the way and pining him against the couch, it was impossible. The Sheriff hadn’t seen his son successfully get off the couch in over a year. It was probably a good thing he had moved in with Derek a few years ago- he was quickly outgrowing his childhood home.

Stiles struggled a few more times before glaring at Derek, panting. “Asshole.”

He struggled a few more times.

“Sorry, babe.” Derek grinned. He dropped the box on the rounded crest of his belly. “Consider it your exercise for the day.”

Stiles ignored him in favor of shoving two pieces of fudge in his mouth. “Mmmph s’good.”

So maybe the Sheriff wished Derek enabled his son a _little_ less. He couldn’t blame Derek entirely; Stiles always had a big appetite and his diet was never the healthiest. He had gained well-over the freshman fifteen his first year of college, before meeting Derek. The Sheriff had attributed it to the broke college student diet of ramen and pizza and probably beers.

Then Stiles had met Derek and his weight had skyrocketed. With Derek’s unlimited funds, Stiles was either eating or on a food-related date with Derek. The Sheriff had given up trying to convince Stiles’ to eat in moderation. Stiles was happy with Derek and content to spend his time sedentary and overfed, lounging around like Derek’s fat pet, constantly stuffing his face with food. Stiles went from a lanky high-schooler to a chubby college student to the morbidly obese man sitting on his couch, fudge smeared on his fingers and face.

“We are having dinner,” the Sheriff reminded Stiles, who was already on his second pound of fudge, “maybe you want to slow down?”

“Only one more slice,” Stiles promised. He patted his wobbling side. “I’ve got plenty of room for dinner.”

The couch suddenly gave a shuddering groan and then there was a sound of wood cracking. Derek rushed over and pulled Stiles, still clutching his box of fudge, to his feet. The couch had a huge indent where Stiles had been sitting and looked strangely lopsided.

“Ooops. Sorry, Dad. We’ll replace that!”

The Sheriff sighed. Knowing Derek, a replacement would be there tomorrow, one sturdy enough to support his son’s mass, at least for a while longer. It certainly wasn’t the first, or the last, piece of furniture to have met its demise under Stiles’ growing waistline. 


	7. Stuffed Like a Turkey (On the Christmas Market)

“Happy Anniversary, my love.”

Derek smiled, opening his mouth to respond. Only a muffled noise and a belch came out, which gave Stiles the opportunity to stuff another generous bite of roasted pheasant into his mouth. He happily accepted bite after bite, not quite remembering what anniversary they were celebrating – was it their eighth? Eleventh? The time all blended together in a blissful haze.

“Ten years,” Stiles continued, as always, somehow managing to read his husband’s mind. “We got engaged ten years ago during the Christmas market, do you remember?”

Derek nodded. He had been the last Omega of Hale line, most of family dead, his kingdom destroyed, slowly starving and freezing to death in an empty castle when he decided to make the trek to the neighboring Kingdom of Beacon, prepared to plead to be allowed refuge. Instead, despite dozens of suitors with far more to offer than merely a royal title, Stiles had picked Derek out of the crowd to take the throne next to him. He had very hesitantly accepted the engagement, nervously seated next to an unfamiliar King, as the people bustling around the market shops and enjoying the food and festivities stopped to congratulate them.

“I was sure you were joking.”

“I knew we would be a perfect match,” Stiles smiled. “And I did keep my promise to keep you safe, happy, and well-fed.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Do I look underfed to you?”

Stiles had held true on his promise to provide for and pamper his Omega. Stiles was a better Alpha than Derek ever dared dream of and showed a lot of his affection through food. The results were undeniable.

Stiles laughed. “No. Not since Talia was born.”

“You still said I was too skinny then,” Derek huffed. Talia was the first of their six children and while Derek had gained the least during that first pregnancy, he had packed on a solid fifty pounds.

“You were! You’ll always be too skinny for me,” Stiles said, grabbing another plate and continuing Derek’s feeding.

Derek has certainly reached an impressive size under Stiles’ feedings. He was proud to say, his rapidly ballooning figure seemed tied to the prosperity of the kingdom.

The farmers and the bakers always had a steady income from the castle as Stiles insisted on always having Derek’s favorite foods stocked in the kitchen at all times, no matter how expensive or seasonal they were. During each of Derek’s pregnancies, particularly with the twins, his appetite and cravings were at an all-time high. No matter what he asked for, Stiles would find a way to provide it and spend each night curled up in bed next to his Omega, hand-feeding him bite after bite.

The constant feeding meant that the tailors and carpenters also experienced an economic windfall. Derek had an outfit for more than a few months before it needed to be taken out or entirely replaced. The same fate befell the furniture in the castle which all started to warp and bend under his staggeringly high weight.

The throne Derek was currently sitting on was one of those custom pieces. Legs too weak to support his immense weight, and a belly that reached to his knees and prevented him from taking anything more than a slow, waddling shuffle, his throne more closely resembled a wide platform, poles on either end so he could be carried around. The seat itself was wide enough to fit five normal sized men in it, yet Derek could feel his ass and thighs pressing up against the sides, love handles squished on the arms. It had taken years, but he finally felt like the perfect husband for Stiles. An immense, immobile Omega, being plumped up and stuffed like a turkey by his loving Alpha, his sheer size showing off the wealth and strength of their Kingdom.

He let out another burp before accepting the flagon of mead Stiles brought to his lips. It was still early in the day, but he knew that, keeping with their yearly tradition, his meal would continue well into the evening, as townspeople took time from the Christmas market to wish their Kings a happy holiday and another bountiful new year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Running a bit behind, but I'll catch up. This is day 7 and 8 because they fit well together.


	8. Snug as a Pig in a Blanket

When Stiles walked into the loft, Derek was wrapped tightly in a blanket on the couch, round cheeks and hint of a double chin that had been forming lately sticking out from his makeshift hood.

“Aww, don’t you look snug as a pig in a blanket.”

“Fuck off, Stiles.” Derek growled; eyes flashing red. Stiles stumbled over his feet as he took a step backwards.

“What was that for?”

“If you thought I was such a pig, maybe you should have said something _before_ I put on thirty pounds _.”_

“Shit, I didn’t – you know I have no filter. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Fine, but I didn’t mean anything negative.” He took a tentative seat on the couch next to Derek, waiting to get shoved off. Derek refused to even look at him. “You know I’m crazy about you.”

“I’ve put on weight.” Derek repeated. His could feel his pants digging into his waist and his shirt was stretched more tightly than usual over his slightly rounded middle. Thirty pounds wasn’t much, but on someone once as fit as Derek, it made a noticeable difference.

“Yep,” Stiles agreed, “and in case you didn’t hear me, I’m into it.”

“You don’t miss – ”

“- dude, abs? Good. Chub? Good. Fat? Good.” They had this conversation before. Stiles put an arm around Derek’s waist and the little potbelly he had started accumulating since they had gotten together. “I’m literally here through thick and thin. You’re much more cuddly like this though.”

Derek didn’t respond, although he did let Stiles tug him sideways, until he was laying down on the couch, head in Stiles’ lap, still covered with the blanket.

“You said even wolves put on happy relationship weight.”

“I didn’t know it would be this much.”

Stiles laughed. “Between Allison and Kira, Scott looks like a huge marshmallow now. And Jackson denies it, but I actually saw him in off-the rack clothes on his date with Danny because his tailor couldn’t let his pants out anymore.”

Derek grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “But I’m the Alpha.”

“Pretty sure you’re still the slimmest of your pack, Alpha. If it helps, I can tell Allison and Kira to fatten Scott up a bit more, make sure he has at least fifty pounds on your.”

That finally got Derek to look less grumpy and his mouth twitch into something more of a smile. “Not sure they need your push…but that might help.”

Stiles pulled out his phone and shot off a few quick texts. “Done.”

“Thanks, Stiles.”

Stiles leaned down and gave him a quick kiss, then started lightly stroking his hair. A short while later, they were interrupted by Stiles’ cellphone.

Scott has sent a picture of his kitchen table, filled with boxes of pizzas and take-out containers from his favorite Mexican restaurant. Stiles burst out laughing.

**i hate you**

**you know how many tacos I had for lunch**

**and you told them I looked like I was starving??**

**WTF.**

He showed the text to Derek, who chuckled.

“You’ll be the wolf among the pigs in your pack, Derek.”


	9. Buttons are Just Ornamental

“Why are there buttons on your tree?”

“They’re ornaments.”

“They’re buttons.”

“Most people keep the button on their pants. Since you can’t do that, I put them on the tree.”

“I knew you were collecting them,” Derek grumbled. He foolishly believed Stiles had crawled on the ground after the scattered buttons to “keep the house clean” or “repair the pants.” Keeping the buttons for an ornamental purpose was much more like Stiles.

“You keep losing them, Big Guy.”

That was only partially true. He had ruined a lot of pants, but not all of them had been from burst buttons. As he was gaining, his constantly bloated middle, widening and rounding out meal by meal, proved a challenge for buttons. Soon however, his rapidly increasing weight meant that his stomach was the least of his problems. Suddenly, it was his blubbery lower body that was causing the wardrobe malfunction. Pants started splitting down the middle as he bent over, bulbous ass too much for the straining seams. Other seams followed suit, stressed from the pressure of containing his tree-trunk width thighs and calves, starting to burst. Holes kept appearing from the friction of his thighs rubbing together as he walked.

Derek had stubbornly kept squeezing into his jeans, with a good deal of assistance from Stiles, until he had tipped the scales at five-hundred pounds and finally accepted his days of wearing jeans were over. It was almost impossible to find any in his size and sweatpants were a much easier choice for someone of his size. Which meant, aroused as he was to see the tree as a demonstration of gluttony, covered in buttons that had met their end by the sheer size of his flabby gut, there was no way they could all be his. His button-popping days had ended along with his jean wearing days - over a hundred pounds ago.

“These aren’t all mine.” Derek said with a dawning realization, looking closer at the tree. Some of the buttons were smaller and had clearly come off a button-down shirt, something Derek never wore. “This one looks like yours. And this one…”

“Okay, fine. Two or three are mine. Maybe four.” 

“More like ten. This is from the unlimited pasta and breadsticks – ”

“ – those all count as one! My shirt was too tight that day and you know it.”

“Uh-huh. What about this one from the buffet? The bottomless beer night? The pizza contests with Scott? How about – ”

“ – fine! I’ve put on a little weight.”

“It’s more than a little weight,” Derek said teasingly. Stiles’ belly was smaller than his own, but it was still considerably larger than it was last year. “You might be catching up to me!”

“Not even close. I can still find pants that fit.”

Derek used both hands to grab Stiles’ belly, shaking it a bit before letting it wobble back down over his waistband. “Keep eating like a pig and that won’t be true.”

“Hey! You’re the one rubbing off on _me.”_

_“_ Just like I was the one who told you to eat your weight in shrimp, right?”

“All you can eat _means_ all- you – can – eat, Derek.”

“And you can definitely eat. Keep stuffing yourself and you’ll have more “ornaments” on that tree than me.”

Stiles eyes narrowed. “Is that a challenge?”

“If you want it to be.” Derek was _very_ into the idea of a fatter Stiles. More wobbling, soft flesh to grab hold of, more stretch marks to trace, and the added bonus of watching Stiles gorge himself every chance he got. By the look on Stiles’ face, he equally turned on by the thought of fattening himself out of his wardrobe, forcefully popping off buttons as he did so.

“We’re going to need a bigger tree.”


	10. Tinsel Strength

“Stiles, Stiles Stilinksi, please report to the men’s clothing department on floor two.”

“Goddamn it,” Stiles muttered. “I left him alone for ten minutes.”

He put down cutlery set he was looking at and hurried off to see the latest destruction Scott had gotten up to. The last time he had been called over the store intercom, they were at a grocery store and Scott had charmed his way into eating multiple carts of free samples, until management asked them to leave.   
  
As he rounded the corner into the men’s department, a few associates were scurrying to the dressing rooms. Stiles followed them in.

“Hi, I’m Stiles, I was paged?”

“Your friend fell, nothing serious, but…. he asked for your assistance.”

The massive blob of a man was sitting happily on the ground, nearly filling every inch of the small dressing room. Clearly, Scott had tried to take a seat and forgotten most furniture was not rated to hold a super-sized werewolf. The bench that normally took up one side of the little room was squashed underneath him, the edges barely visible. Behind him, a chunk of the wall was missing, paint peeled away where the bench had cracked off.

“Oh, hey, Stiles.”

“Scott, seriously? We’ve talked about this.”

“I was tired! You gave me a lot of clothes to try on.”

“I had to give you a lot of clothes to try. You outgrew everything again!”

“They were all too small,” Scott pouted, “and that’s why I got tired. So I sat down.”

“You can only sit on things if they’re rated for baby elephants. Or made of steel. It takes tinsel strength to support you, Scotty! Or at least a forklift.”

“Sorry?”

“No, you aren’t.” The bigger Scott got, the more destruction he caused. Splintered chairs, a bent bedframe, dented couches, doorframes scratched as Scott used his claws to pull himself out, and even plates and glasses knocked off the table because Scott was unaware of how wide his gut had gotten. The inconvenience of constantly “Scott-proofing” the house, was overshadowed by how hot it was to see things destroyed under Scott’s blubber. Regardless of what he was doing – having sex, stuffing his face, or jerking off, rather than discourage Scott, something breaking undeath him only turned him on and spurred him on further.

Stiles helped pull Scott to his feet, which was no easy feat these days. Really, he squished himself against Scott’s belly to allow the wider man to use him as leverage to get to his feet. It was a slow process, but he eventually stood up and waddled out of the dressing room. The employees waved off Scott’s offer to pay for the damages, probably just happy to see Scott was leaving.

“Food court?”

Scott’s stomach, so well-conditioned at the mention of food, grumbled loudly. 

“Guess that’s a yes.” Stiles laughed. “Let’s see what else you can break." 


	11. Mulled Wining and Dining

Derek was sitting in the parking lot, anxiously looking around for the jeep, although he knew he would be able to hear that thing rattling down the road before he could catch sight of it. It wasn’t like Stiles to be late, especially not over ten minutes later, without a text. Maybe he had forgotten their date? That wasn’t like Stiles either. They had been on over seven, what Derek considered successful dates. Had Stiles suddenly changed his mind?

Head starting to fill with anxious thoughts and self-doubt, he checked his phone once more. He had a text from Derek.

_Srry drek not going to make it_

**Are you okay? Are you safe?**

_Yeah fine, can’t drive_

**Where are you?**

_Home_

**Be there in 15**

Stiles sent another text, but Derek was already peeling out of the parking lot and headed to his house. Only twelve minutes had gone by before he was letting himself into the Stilinksi house with the spare key Stiles had given him.

“Stiles?”

There was a weak groan and a loud belch from the living room. Derek walked in to see Stiles on the floor, jeans unbuttoned, belly bloated like a basketball, sticking out in front of him. Two wine bottles, one empty and one half full, and a pizza box was strewn next to him.

“Der- _urpp-_ ek.”

“Stiles, what happened?

“Nervous ‘bout the date.”

“Stiles, we’ve been on dates before.” He knelt down and tried to lift Stiles into a sitting position. “Here, sit up.”

Stiles burped and swatted Derek away. “Don’t wanna move.”

“You’re going to upset your stomach more like that.”

“ _Hic_ \- ‘m fine. Was good wine.”

“Do you even know what mulled wine is?” Derek asked, examining the label.

“’’s all we had. Left from some – _hic -_ holiday party.”

“And you ate it with cheese pizza?”

“Wine and cheese!”

“Not even close.”

“Fine. It was leftover – _hic-_ pizza or shredded cheese.”

“I’m shocked you had leftovers.”

“Hey! Not that – _uuurp –_ fat dude.”

Derek didn’t say a word, just lightly pressed the tips of his fingers into Stiles’ protruding gut, eliciting a few hiccups and a groan, to make his point.

“Fine. I just…I got nervous. We’ve been doing so good, things feel more – _hic-_ serious and didn’t want to mess it up. So I had a glass of wine. And then another. Then I got – _urp -_ hungry. Sorry I ruined our date.”

“You didn’t ruin it. We’ll have other ones.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Promise. How about movies and takeout next time?”

“Mmmn, okay.”

“But – only if you get into bed to sleep this off.”

Stiles struggled to his feet, flailing his arms wildly at Derek when he tried to help. “You – you drive a hard bargain, Derek – _hic –_ Derek Hale.”

“I’m terrible,” Derek agreed, smiling. Their trip up the stars to Stiles’ bedroom was not an easy Stiles had one armed draped around Derek’s arm for support, while the other one was still moving animatedly as he talked. While unphased by the extra weight Stiles had put on while He dropped gracelessly into bed, wiggling his hips in a failed attempt to be helpful so Derek could tug his pants off. At least the button was already undone, which saved him most of the work.

“Want me to come by tomorrow morning with some greasy diner food to help with that hangover?”

“Pleaseeeee. Feeeed me, Der. Gonna make me your – _hic –_ fat boyfriend?”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?

Stiles patted his belly with a grin and then held his hands out in front of him, fully extended and clasped together. “This big.”

“I think that might take more than seven dates.”

“That’s means you’re stuck with me,” Stiles whispered loudly. “To sex and to – _hic –_ fatten.”

“I don’t think that’s how it goes.”

“To have….to feed and to hold?”

“Closer. Go to bed and I’ll feed you and hold you in the morning, okay?”

“’mmmmm okay. next date will be better. Gonna let you wine and dine _me_ ,” Stiles said sleepily.

Derek laughed and kissed his forehead affectionately. “Okay.”


	12. Arts and Craft Services

Stiles had to ring the doorbell three times before someone it was thrown upon. The most attractive man Stiles had ever seen was standing there, staring at him with hazel-green eyes. The man was standing just behind the doorway, clearly too wide to step through. Stiles could not see the man in his entirety as his hips were wider than the frame. Instead, his stomach protruded out of the door, a blubbery sphere that hung to his thighs, pale flesh of his underbelly visible under his stretched-out shirt. 

“Can I help you?”

“I’m the caterer for the party?”

“What party?”

“Dude, shouldn’t you know that?”

“I’m not having a party.”

“Are you Derek Hale?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it says here Derek Hale, today’s date, alfredo pasta, meatballs, garlic bread, garlic chicken, meat and vegetarian lasagna, and a tiramisu…requested for a party of six.”

The man nodded. “Yes, that sounds like my order.”

“So….”

“You said it was for a party. It’s not. It’s all for me.”

Stiles knees went weak. “You’re going to eat all of this?”

“Think I can’t handle it?”

“I can always spot a guy with a big appetite,” Stiles winked, “but I think you underestimate my generous portions.”  
  
The man put both hands under his belly, lifting it up a few inches and letting it fall down, wobbling and pushing his shirt up another few inches. “I didn’t get this big eating in moderation.”

“Do you normally get catering for every meal?”

“Only on special occasions.”

“Oooh. Let me guess…broke a scale?”

Derek gave him a disapproving look. “You think I use a regular scale?”

“Fair point,” Stiles admitted, trying to hide how embarrassingly turned on he was just by the idea the man was too heavy for conventional scales – and that Derek seemed so confident in admitting it. He was clearly not shy or embarrassed about his immense weight and Stiles was crushing _hard._  
  
“I got a new one once I passed three-fifty,” Derek said proudly, patting his pendulous belly. “And I just hit five-fifty.”

Stiles’ mouth went dry. “Well, don’t let me hold up the celebration, Big Guy. Let me go warm up the food. Hope you’re ready to add another twenty pounds to your waistline.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be continued in day 13: Because Derek needs his feast ;)


	13. Hibernation Preparation

Derek had perfectly designed his kitchen for someone of his size. It had a huge, double oven, a massive fridge, plenty of room to maneuver, and a counter large enough to place all of his serving pans. While Derek watched hungrily, Stiles threw everything in the oven to heat up and then made room in the fridge for the dessert. It was no easy feat; Derek’s fridge was overflowing with food.

When everything was done, he shooed Derek into the kitchen, refusing his offers to help. By the time he brought the pans, steam coming off them, into the dining room, Derek was sitting down at the table. Stiles wasn’t sure what to do. Normally he stood around and helped serve people, but, who knew if Derek was even going to bother with plates?

“So…you’ve got the alfredo pasta, meatballs, this pan is the meat lasagna, the vegetarian one has the lighter sauce, the chicken, garlic bread – there’s some extra garlic butter on the side if you want, and the tiramisu is in the fridge. Do you want me to wait in the kitchen or…” There was way too much food for one sitting. His size was a testament to his appetite and that boulder sized belly could undoubtedly fit an impress amount of food, but no matter how eagerly Derek was looking at the food, there was going to be leftovers. 

Derek shook his head. “You can join me, make a plate if you want. I don’t mind the company.”

“Oh no, I’d hate to deprive you of any of this,” Stiles laughed, “but I will keep you company. Better than eating alone, right?”

“I get used to it.” Derek said, serving himself a plate sized slab of lasagna. “I can be….a lot to handle.”

“Their loss, dude. Who wouldn’t want to handle all of that?” He immediately turned red and started stammering to make up for his lapse. “I mean – not, like you you’re a lot to handle. Well, you are – but like, in a hot – sit on me way.” 

Stiles was ready to volunteer himself as tribute to handle anything of Derek’s. He could handle a big appetite and he would happily be able to handle the impact of that appetite – a lot of cushion to cuddle up to, love handles to squeeze and hold during sex, a lot of ass to bury his face into……If only he could have mentioned it in a nice, polite way that wasn’t’ stuttering and clumsy.

His message must have gotten across though, because Derek was gazing at him in interest, still shoveling lasagna into his mouth. “Are you volunteering?”

“I - fuck yes, Derek. I would be interested. If that’s what you want.”

Derek didn’t answer as he piled his plate once again, this time with pasta. He took a slice of garlic bread, dipping it into the garlic butter until it was saturated and dripping, then shoved it into his mouth with a muffled, “Very interested.”

“I’ve never found anyone who appreciates my food like this.”

“I’m just getting started.”

That was clearly an invite and Stiles was enjoying the show. Derek was helping himself to generous servings from each pan now, making a decent dent it each. He ate like he was preparing for hibernation. Fast, sloppy bites, barely taking a breath in-between, just shoveling in bite after bite like food was going to be in short supply. He either didn’t notice, or likely didn’t care, the crumbs and sauce dripping off his fork and unto his flabby chest and stomach.

Stiles didn’t bother to make conversation. Aside from the heavy breathing and occasional burps, Derek was too focused on gorging himself to talk. After about a half-hour of constant eating, he started to slow down.

“Full already?”

“No,” Derek belched. “Making more room.”

He struggled to reach under his yoga-ball sized belly with his greasy fingers, panting a little bit from the struggle, and undid the button his pants. Stiles was reasonably impressed he could even find jeans that comfortably fit. Once Derek’s jeans were undone, his belly pushed a little bit further into his lap and he sagged a little bit, sighing in relief.

Reaching out to refill his plate once again seemed to be a greater challenge. All that food had made a barely noticeable impact on his already huge gut, but Stiles could imagine how heavy all that weight felt around his middle, preventing Derek from fully leaning forward enough to serve himself.

Stiles took the liberty of refilling his plate for him, sliding it in front of Derek. “Fuck, Derek. You’ve already eaten enough for at least two people and you’re still hungry?”

“Your – _uurrp-_ food is good.” He finished off the plate with a record speed, sauce smeared around his mouth and double-chin now. “Feels so good to…make a pig of myself.”

“Mmmn, it’s a good look for you. I’d keep you fed like a pig every day, Der.” Stiles said as he dutifully served Derek once more. “What do you think? Count this as our first date and make it a weekly thing?”

“Good – to – me,” Derek wheezed out. He struggled to take a few more bites then pushed the plate away. “I’m- done. Too – _uuurrp –_ full.”

The loaves of garlic bread had been completely demolished, along with at least half of all the main dishes. Derek look _wrecked._ Covered with evidence of his gluttony, pants undone, shirt risen up over his belly button, red in the face, burps escaping every other shallow breath he took, and hands cradling his solidly packed belly.

Stiles’ had never been so aroused and he was certain Derek was hard, dick buried underneath the blubber of his behemoth belly. “I – fuck, Derek. I can’t believe you ate so damn much.”

“Wanted to show off,” he muttered. “Haven’t…eaten that much in – _uuurp_ – awhile.”

“Need a hand?” Stiles asked, waggling his fingers. “You did gorge yourself on _my_ food to impress me.”

“Did it work?”

“I’ve never been more attracted to someone in my life,” Stiles admitted. “And I really want to see how much damage that dinner did.”

Derek looked down at the partially eaten dishes and then down at his own figure, pinned down to the chair by his stuffed middle. “I hate to disappoint you, but – _uuurp –_ but I don’t think I’m getting up any time soon.”

Stiles, who had been fantasizing about being between Derek’s tree-trunk thighs and feeling the weight of his flabby midsection above him, was unbothered. “I was thinking I could blow you…. then sit on your lap and feed you that tiramisu sitting in the fridge.”

Derek nodded his head in agreement, feeling hungry.


	14. Beached for the Holidays

“Derek, good to see you around. Been awhile.”

“Sheriff,” Derek nodded. “I’ve been…busy.”

It seemed inappropriate to tell his eventual father-in law his own son was to blame for Derek’s noted absence around town and the reason for using his previously untouched vacation days from the station. Coming up on his final year of school, Stiles’ coursework had prevented him from communicating much with Derek or coming home to visit. Having a little over a month to reunite before Stiles returned to school meant they had been spending ever possible moment with each other.   
  
Really, it meant that every moment Derek wasn’t sleeping or having mind-blowing sex, Stiles was keeping him over-fed. Derek had spent the holiday thus far practically beached on the couch or their bed, too full to consider doing anything but lazily cuddling and receiving Stiles’ amazing belly rubs.

“I assume I have my son to blame for it,” he sighed. “I hope you remember the station does have some physical fitness requirements.”

Derek turned red and withdrew his hand, which had been reaching for a second tub of ice cream.

Normally Stiles did the weekly shopping while Derek was recovering from his army-sized breakfast of bacon, waffles and pancakes (even though Derek always insisted they were practically the same). Today, Derek had woken up early and decided to head to the store instead, to give Stiles longer to sleep in.

He had not expected to run into the Sheriff. If he had, he might have made more of an effort to find something in his wardrobe that didn’t cling to him like a second skin. He swore everything fit him properly, if not a little snugly, before Stiles had come home for the holiday. But under Stiles’ constant feedings, Derek had rapidly piled on enough weight to once again make anything he owned indecently tight. His chubby inner thighs were rubbing the fabric thin and when he bent down, the top of his globular ass was visible. Derek tried to pull his shirt down every few steps, but it was a losing battle. His shirt slid up his prominent belly inch by inch, letting his gut and love handles wobble proudly on display.

“It’s a little holiday weight,” Derek lied. “I haven’t been working out as much.” _Or at all_ , he added silently. Anytime he even thought about going to the gym, Stiles dragged him back into bed or tempted him to stay with something else to eat.

The Sheriff seemed to guess as much. He reached past his deputy and grabbed the ice cream he had abandoned, tossing it into Derek’s cart, eyeing the cart’s plethora of other desserts and junk food.

“Relax. Guess someone has to take care of paperwork. I know how persistent that kid can be. I’m just glad he’s happy.”

Derek nodded gratefully. The Sheriff clapped him on the shoulder.   
  
“But maybe find some more bigger pants to wear on Christmas, son. We don’t want a repeat of last year.”


	15. Candy is Dandy

_“Chocolate is overrated”, Stiles complained. “That’s all you can find for Christmas now! Chocolate Santa, chocolate and nuts, chocolate peppermint. There are better types of candy.”_

_“Chocolate is the best candy,” Derek corrected him._

_“It’s a trend. No one wants that much chocolate.”_

_“I could eat chocolate every day and not be sick of it.” That was his mistake. That once sentence that started everything._

_“Really,” Stiles said with a grin, eyes narrowed. The challenge had begun._

_***_

It started with bacon for breakfast, thick, greasy slices, smothered in chocolate. Stiles never does anything halfway and cooks up an entire packet. Not to be outdone, Derek finishes every – single – slice. His stomach is upset and queasy after, but the victory is worth it.

***

Muffins are next. Chocolate chip. Then chocolate crème filled donuts. Chocolate croissants. It’s turned into something more than simply a bet. Stiles’ smile lights the room when he sees Derek eating and enjoying himself. And Derek…Derek likes this new softness around his waist. Likes feeling stuffed and lazy. Loves how his ass now bounces as he walks and his thighs rub together. It feels right.

***

Stiles feeds him chocolate covered strawberries on their anniversary. Derek spends the night overwhelmed with affection. Stiles brings a strawberry to his mouth, one by one. Helps Derek out of his clothes and pushes him on the bed, lazily exploring his new figure. He traces the stretch marks that have started to appear over his chubby belly and sides. Leaves little bites on the inside of his thighs and on his widening rear. Derek wonders if Stiles really minds the new him. Wonders if he knew the bet would last this long. Stiles tells Derek how he’s the best thing to happen to him.

***

He starts snacking on chocolate bars. Snack size first, then full size, and then the massive, one-pound bars Stiles ordered for him. He’s been eating chocolate non-stop for over a year, but each bite is still a little bit of rich, cocoa heaven. The waistband of his pants digs tighter and tighter into his middle. It’s no surprise when the button finally pops off. With some of the pressure relieved from his stomach; he tears open another bar.

***

Another morning, another feast. Belgian waffles drowning in chocolate shavings and whipped cream. Chocolate pancakes with chocolate syrup. Derek starts the day and ends the day filled like a chocolate balloon. He can stop at any time. He knows this – but he can’t. He needs to eat more. He needs to be fatter. Heavier. Wider. Bigger. He lets Stiles serve him another plate, so well-conditioned, his stomach grumbles and his heart leaps.

***

_Ping. Pop. Riiiiip._ Derek kept chugging down his chocolate shake. Once it is finished, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at the damage. Another pair of pants ruined. Each malfunction was a badge of honor. It happened more and more often now.

Buttons popping off his pants. Seams splitting down his thunder thighs. Pants ripping neatly in half as his ass piles on more and more weight. Love handles spilling over his waistband. Shirts that tore around flabby upper arms or that slid further and further up his bulbous belly. He wonders how much longer until clothes don’t come in his size. 

***

Derek dreams he is Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. He goes over to a chocolate river, frustrated that he only has a straw to try and drain it. Stiles comes over with a bucket and Derek immediately accepts, filling it up with sweet, rich chocolate and guzzling it down. Scoop, gulp, repeat. His body starts swelling up bigger and bigger. He tells himself enough, he needs to leave while he can still walk away. Suddenly he loses balance, boulder sized belly tipping him forward. He is too fat to get stuck in the tube, but the suction keeps him there. With no other choice, he keeps guzzling down the chocolate flowing towards him. When he’s done, his bottom half has gotten as wide as the river and he can no longer reach the end of his belly.

He wakes up craving hot fudge sundaes.

***

_You can admit you’re wrong anytime_ , Stiles tells him. _We can stop._ Derek knows. Derek has always known. If he says stop, they’ll stop. Stiles won’t push. Derek will lose the weight. But he doesn’t want to stop. There’s something so hedonistic, so greedy and gluttonous about allowing himself to get so fat and content with Stiles. He wants to push it further. He sits with a bowl of chocolate pudding, belly round enough now he uses it as a shelf, scooping it out with two fingers at a time.

***

When he and Stiles go out - Derek hears everything people say about them. _How does someone get that fat? He’s the size of a house. He must squash his poor boyfriend. Bet he eats all that chocolate cake in a day. Look at him waddling. He’s wider than he is tall. Can’t believe how much food is in his cart, what a pig._ Derek always overloads his cart with more chocolate than he can eat in a week, eager to prove he is exactly as fat as they think. He and Stiles always race to get home afterwards, both of them achingly hard, Stiles’ repeating everything they heard in breathless moans, leaving the groceries on the counter as the stumbled to bed.

***

. Derek takes big, messy handfuls of chocolate gateau, cramming it into his mouth with reckless abandon as Stiles fucks him. He knows the rule – Stiles will let him finish when the cake is done. His belly is brushing against the bed, heavy and full. He is moaning in pleasure, groaning as he struggles to shove in the last few slices, burping and grunting. Stiles calls Derek his pig, his greedy wolf, and Derek knows he _is_ Stiles’. Body and soul. He’ll be Stiles’ pig, his whale, his fucking _mattress_ if it makes Stiles’ happy. When they finish, Stiles rolls to the side and entwines his hand in Derek’s chocolate smeared one.

***

After their wedding vows are said, the ceremony over and the reception emptied, Stiles shows him the three-layer death by chocolate wedding cake he had made. Derek had to buy a larger tux a few days before the wedding. The one he’s wearing now will never fit him again. The cake is delicious. He feeds Stiles a few bites before greedily digging in. Stiles tastes like chocolate, kissing Derek and sinking into the softness of his belly, hands gripping his love handles tight.

***

They finally move out of the apartment, not a moment too soon. Derek’s been rapidly outgrowing the furniture. Broke kitchen chair, sunken in couch, and a creaking bed. He’s been nervously pushing himself through doorways. His hips have gotten so wide they brush the side of the doorframe, but if he turns sideways, his belly and ass have gotten so large, he is even more tightly wedged. Their new house was custom built to fit someone five times Derek’s size. Double-wide doorways, almost comically strong and wide furniture, tub fit for a baby whale, and a kitchen to make restaurants jealous. They make celebratory brownies. Stiles wonders how long before Derek is the size of their enormous bed, then rims him within an inch of his life as Derek polishes off a second brownie pan.

_***_

He licks the chocolate mousse from his fingers. He tries to crane his neck to see Stiles, can feel his prominent double chin as he looks down, but on his back like this, he can’t see over the hundreds of pounds of fat he’s accumulated. His- and there’s no other word for them but breasts, heavy and round, sagging onto his mountain of a belly completely obscure the view of Stiles pushing up his belly to take hold of his dick. Derek is getting too fat for sex, ass already too blubbery and wide to be penetrated, and holding himself on all fours is a physical task he’s no longer up to. The fact makes come with a loud moan, Stiles’ name on his tongue as his eyes roll back in his head with pleasure.

_***_

His appetite has been growing steadily. He remembers when a plate of chocolate chip cookies would be enough to fill up. One cheesecake would be a herculean task to finish. A pie would leave him full for hours. Now his belly rumbles for more. He and Stiles both know where this is leading to. Getting out of bed is harder and harder with so much fat weighing him down. Waddling for too long of a distance exhausts him. It is hard to walk with thighs that are wider than some chairs. He is five times the man he used to be. Derek gets hungry just thinking about it.   
  
***

He can’t get out of bed. It takes him a few minutes of trying to sit up, trying to roll back and forth to heave himself to his feet, before he falls back, winded and sweaty. He knows he should possibly feel worried or embarrassed…but all he feels is pride and excitement and arousal. He calls for Stiles. Stiles spends the day in bed with him, praising him and teasing him. The next day, he comes in with the biggest spread of chocolate Derek has ever seen. _Let’s see how big you can really get, Der. You can’t ever be too fat._ Derek nods in agreement, cheeks bulging with fudge. He’s never been more in love – with Stiles or with chocolate.


	16. Apple of My Pie

“So, you know how I’ve been gaining a lot of weight?” Stiles asked, taking a cautious seat on the couch next to Derek.

“Forty pounds isn’t that much.” Derek said absently, finishing the page he was on before sliding a bookmark in a closing the book.

“It’s a lot for four months.”

Derek couldn’t argue with that. Stiles had been developing a sizable belly, his flannels all stretched out and drawing more attention to his extra weight he had been gaining in the last few months. Stiles was attributing it to a multitude of things. He was always lankier and skinnier than most Omegas, so he first blamed his softer figure on his metabolism finally kicking in. Then as the pounds kept piling on, he had attributed it to relationship weight, early winter weight, too much Halloween candy, and then, what was probably the actual cause, the annual Harvest Festival.

“You and Scott were at the Harvest Festival every night.”

“Not my point.”

“Stiles, you entered the pie eating contest three times.”

“I didn’t win!”

“You also had the dozens of apple fritters? The donuts? The gallons of cider? All the apple pies you _brought home?”_

“Well, you don’t have to say it like that,” Stiles grumbled. “I’m not the size of a house yet.”

“Yet?”

“Turns out I’m pregnant.” He cradled his arms around his belly. “With twins.”

Derek stared at him, unsure if he was joking or not. Stiles was looking nervously at him, waiting for a response.

“You know, babies? When an Alpha and Omega have - ooof!” Derek had wrapped his arms around him, silencing him with a kiss as he tugged Stiles into his lap and holding him almost tight enough to bruise.

“That’s…that’s amazing, Stiles. How – when did you find out?”

“A few days ago.” He struggled to get his phone from his pocket and showed Derek the sonogram. “They’re the apples of my pie!”

“Please don’t call our babies that.”

“Get it? Instead of bun in the oven? Because I was craving pies!”

Derek laughed and pinched his sides. “You still can’t blame all this on being pregnant.”

“I’m blaming our twins for any weight I gain from now on,” Stiles informed him. “And I’m still craving pie.”

“I’ll get you all the pies you want,” Derek promised. 


	17. How I Ate on My Christmas Vacation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation/same AU as Chapter 2: Two Sizes too Small.

He had barely stepped foot into the restaurant before Erica had thrown herself at him in a crushing hug. “Stiles! Haven’t seen you around here in a few months.”

“Thesis stuff,” Stiles sighed. He was so close to finishing off his PhD program, but the last few months working on his research had been brutal. The library had sadly overtaken the café off campus as his new favorite study spot and he had worked straight through his Christmas vacation, trying to get ahead for the next semester.

“You must have been busy. You’re looking skinny.”

“Is it noticeable?” Stiles winced. He had been on plenty of video calls with Derek, but his apartment was close to campus and a full day’s drive to the restaurant. Which had given him the chance to hide his weight loss from Derek.

Stiles hated it. He had been proudly tipping the scales at over 450 pounds, but after working overtime, pulling constant all-nighters in the library, getting too immersed in his studies to get food, he had lost almost fifteen pounds. Considering his size, fifteen pounds was hardly anything, but Stiles could swear his double-chin was a little less prominent and his pants fit a little more loosely around his middle than usual.

“To most people? No. To Derek? He’s going to freak out.”

“He might not notice!” Stiles lied. He knew Derek was going to worry about him. Stiles was wearing his hoodie today, hoping it added a little bit of bulk to his figure, although he realized looking down that the hoodie used to be stretched tight around his belly and now there was a little bit of a crease and extra room. He wanted nothing more than to see his hoodie stretched to the limit and see his love handles and lower belly peering out.

“He’s going to notice.” She grinned devilishly and then shouted into the kitchen, “Derek! Have you been starving your poor boyfriend?”

As predicted, Derek came immediately rounding out of the kitchen. “What are you talking – ” he stopped when he caught sight of Stiles. He pulled Stiles into a tight hug and a much too-inappropriate kiss for standing in a middle of a restaurant, then actually growled. “You do look too thin.”

Erica cackled and walked off to the kitchen. “I’ll tell Jackson to get cooking.”

They both ignored her. 

“Who loses weight over Christmas vacation?”

Stiles shrugged. “You know how it is. Working overtime, all-nighters, college kid budget, end of semester so my funds are low. I didn’t get to eat a lot.”

“We’ll fix that,” Derek promised. “Starting with lunch.”

“Thank god, dude. I’m starving.” He grabbed his belly, no easy task considering his flab spilled out of both hands, and waddled over to his usual seat. “I really, really want you to feed me until I’m too stuffed to remember my name.”

***

Jackson was racing around the kitchen trying to keep up with the ticket he was currently working on, especially now that Derek had taken his break, leaving Jackson also in charge of dessert.

“Erica, double-check this ticket. There’s no way Stilinski can eat all that.”

“I’m not going out there. Stiles’ moans like he’s having the best sex of his life when he eats. Send Isaac.”

“No way,” Isaac whined. “I had to bring the last three dishes to them. I’m not getting hit with another button.”

“Video proof or it didn’t happen,” Jackson told him. “Take this burger out.”

“And double-check if they want the third one.” Erica called after him. She knew Stiles, or Derek, hadn’t ordered as much as she wrote down, but she also knew that Stiles would never turn down food. Especially when he was trying to overcompensate for his weight loss.

“Fine.” Reluctantly, Isaac left the kitchen, plate in hand. Once he had left the kitchen, Jackson pointed a finger accusatorily at Erica.

“That’s cheating. You know asking is only going to make Stiles more determined to finish all that.”

“Yep. You made the bet. You better be ready to pay up.”

“I’m adding extra portions to the sides then,” Jackson grumbled. “You aren’t winning this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, and left kudos!! I know it is a little past Christmas...but I will be finishing these prompts!


	18. Round as a Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very very loose interpretation of the original prompt: “round the tree” and contains unrealistic, rapid weight gain.

_Once Upon a Time…there was a stubborn Baker and a greedy King. For years, Beacon had been ruled by the Wolf King. Lonely and miserable, the Wolf King buried himself in food. Trying to satiate their King’s enormous appetite, the Kingdom suffered. They pleaded with their King to marry, so his heart may finally know compassion and love. Their King said he would give his hand in marriage only to one who could provide a wedding cake enough to satisfy his hunger._

_None had succeeded._

The first time, the Baker brought a traditional, three-tiered wedding cake. The King gobbled it down in mere minutes, love handles resting on the arms of the throne. “I had a breakfast bigger than this,” he complained.

The second time, the Baker had an even wider cake, four slabs of cake, layered with generous portions of jam and frosting. Again, the King ate it quickly, frosting smeared on his double chin, and dismissed him. “I had one twice this size the other day.”

The third time, the Baker came with a cake so wide and heavy it took two men to carry it. When the King was done eating, he placed both hands on his pendulous belly and shook it in anger. “I drink barrels of mead a day. Entire loaves of bread with my lunch. A full cow for my meals. Do you really think this will be enough to satisfy me?”

Finally defeated, the Baker walked away, leaving the King slumped in his throne, licking his fingers clean.

********

“Scott! Scotty! You got my message?”

“Umm..yes? ‘Cake ready, bring horses.’ It wasn’t very clear, but I have two horses and our wagon.”

Stiles shook his head. “We won’t need the wagon; I have something specially built for this occasion.”

He headed out the back of his bakery, gesturing for Scott to follow him. Outside was a massive cart on wheels, easily the length and width of several men, with a canvas covering its contents.

“Are you finally going to tell me what you’ve been working on these last few months?”

“I have a visitation with the King this afternoon.”

“It’s been three years; you need to give up. He has refused countless suitors.”

“He can’t refuse this,” Stiles said proudly, lifting the canvas off a corner of the cart. He grinned at Scott’s look of incredulity.

“Is that…”

“My cake!”

“It looks as round as a tree! I think I’ve seen smaller trees in the Dark Forest than this.”

“Wider than three grown men,” Stiles said happily. “And slightly taller than me.”

“You – how – you can’t possible have a way to bake – ”

“That’s the best part- It’s made from cake mixed with frosting to make a sort of…fudgier, dense cake. Layered chocolate ganache and then covered with frosting. There’s no way he can finish it all. He’ll either have to accept my hand in marriage, or explode!”

Scott shook his head. “Good luck, man. Don’t get upset if this plan doesn’t work.”

“It’s going to work.”

****

“You again?” Derek boomed as Stiles bowed politely by his feet. The King was an impressive sight. Every year he came into the castle walls, Derek seemed to be wider. His throne had already been rebuilt to accommodate his growing rear once, but he was already filling it out. He was pushed a few inches from the pack of his chair by the side of his butt and his belly was sagging down to his thighs, as wide as the chair itself. “Not many suitors are so persistent.”

“Perhaps they are not as motivated.”

“Perhaps.” Derek repeated, smiling slightly. “So where is this cake you are so confident about?”

“I’m afraid it can’t be easily carried.” Stiles walked over and pulled the covering off his cart, revealing his monstrous- sized cake in all its glory. The planks of wood underneath it were creaking, protesting the considerable weight. With Stiles standing next to the cake, dwarfed by its size, it truly looked like a cake fit for the mountain giants.

Derek’s face had lit up in piggish delight at the sight. “This is your cake?”

“My own creation,” Stiles nodded. “I hope it isn’t too much for you?”

“Not possible. Cut me a slice,” he demanded. Far too large to be cut by any normal knife, Stiles’ pulled out a sword and carried over a slice on a serving platter. It had to be at least a pound of cake and frosting and chocolate, but it hardly made a dent on the cake sitting on the cart.

Derek rested the platter on his gut, pulling a fork out of his pocket and wasting no time in digging in. Stiles’ took up his yearly position, standing off to the side. He wasn’t standing long before the King was requesting another slice of cake. And then another. And another.

Five slices of cake in, Derek did away with the fork entirely. He got a wild, hungry look in his eyes and started eating at a dizzying pace, using one hand to pick up the slabs of cake and eat them. His cheeks were puffed out with food, double-chin stained with chocolate, and his robes were getting covered with flecks of frosting and crumbs of cake.

Stiles was keeping pace with him, refilling his tray as soon as it emptied. “Enjoying it, my King?”

“You can – _uuupr –_ call me Derek,” he burped. “We are past the formal – _uuurp-_ formalities.”

“I take it that means, ‘yes, Stiles, I am enjoying it and would like another slice.’”

Derek grunted in agreement.   
  
***

Before long, there was a noticeable chunk of cake missing, the size of the three previous cakes Stiles’ had presented him, but over three-quarters left to be finished. Stiles was sure it wouldn’t be long before Derek had to give in. The man claimed to have a ravenous appetite and was certainly proving it, but there was no possible way he could eat much more. He swore Derek looked bigger; his clothes certainly looked tighter as his belly expanded with all the food.

“Admit it, you can’t finish all of this.”

“Can…too.”

“It’s ten times your size. It would take an army to finish this, Derek, never mind one man.”

“I’m not a man,” Derek grinned, eyes flashing red. Stiles was taken aback and momentarily froze in place, full tray in hand. He shook it off after a few seconds, chuckling to himself. It was a good explanation for the man’s expanding size and ravenous hunger.

“If you can finish this, next year I’ll bring you one twice as big,” Stiles promised.

“That may finally be a real challenge.” He shoved the slice in his mouth, barely chewing it. His chins were jiggling with the force of his swallow and Stiles couldn’t look away. “Didn’t get this…. _uuurp-_ fat eating the – _huff-_ ridiculously small portions people insist on- _uuuurp -_ serving me.”

“How fat do you think you’ll be once you finish this?”

Derek burped. “Already fatter.”

“How can you tell?”

“Feels heavy.” He palmed either side of his gut, lifting it up slightly as if trying to guess its weight.

Stiles tried to pretend his stomach wasn’t fluttering watching Derek’s gut wobbling in his lap. “You don’t look heavier.”

“As you keep reminding me, I still have more to go.”

“At this rate, we will be into the next season before you finish. Maybe the rumors of your appetite are exaggerated. Or is too rich for you?”

“Do not test me,” Derek warned.

Stiles ignored him. “I at least expected you to have burst some buttons by now.”

“Oh? Is that what you wanted?”

“I wanted to see my future husband make a true pig of himself…why else would he ask for the biggest cake in the land?”

“I have not offered marriage to you yet.”

“Not yet, but admit it, you are getting full.”

“No.”

“You’ve been slowing down.”

“Maybe because you bring me such small portions.”

Eyes narrowed, Stiles walked back over to the cart and cut the largest wedge yet. It was double the size of the platter he had been using, so Stiles insolently used both hands to carry it, dumping it unceremoniously on top of Derek’s stomach. “Better?” He asked innocently.

It was gone in under two minutes, although Derek was a little red in the face afterwards. “Still…too slow,” huffed.

“Sorry, big guy. I can’t go any faster unless you want to go over there and dig in.”

“If you insist.” He placed both arms on the arms of his throne, having to reach at an awkward angle to get under his thick love handles, and slowly pushed himself to his feet. “You did want….to see the ext – _uuurp -_ extent of my…appetite,” Derek warned.

He waddled over to the cart, taking heavy, slow steps as he did so. It was a small struggle for him to get up unto the cart, belly blocking his way as he tried to lift his legs. Stiles would have offered to help, but he had gotten distracted by watching Derek’s ass quiver and shake as he built up enough momentum to climb up.

Once he had gotten up, Stiles easily jumped up and took a seat in one of the few cake-free areas. “Go on. I want to see you _gorge_ yourself, Derek”

***

Derek did not disappoint. He knelt in front of the cake, which brushed the top of his head, and started to eat like an animal. He was shoveling cake into his mouth as fast as his chubby hands could handle. The rapid pace meant he had no time to talk, the only noises he made were the small burps and grunts and groans he made as he ate.

It didn’t take long before all those calories took a toll. The grunts of Derek’s frenzied eating started to be punctuated by the small _ping_ as buttons started to fly loose and the sound of fabric splitting. His pants were the first to go. As the section of cake, he was eating got lower and lower, he was practically on all fours, butt proudly up in the air. The fabric was split evenly down the center, the tear being stretched more and more as Derek’s rear end grew wider and wider.

He moved further into the cake. His clothes were now becoming dirty shreds, his pants now starting to split around his thighs and calf, shirt already devoid of any buttons, now splitting around his hammock sized upper arms. Derek either didn’t notice or didn’t care, absorbed into his feeding frenzy.

Stiles couldn’t look away, achingly hard watching Derek, who was rapidly expanding by the minute now. Despite being smeared heavily with chocolate, the changes were becoming more and more apparent. His double-chin had become a thick ring of fat around his neck, complimented by his flabby cheeks. His chest was drooping onto the fat rolls of his stomach, massive, flabby breasts that were ballooning like the rest of him. His thighs were getting buried under an enormously flabby ass and a belly that was now fully touching the ground as Derek ate on all fours.

“Good cake?”

“Yes.” Derek said, voice muffled, although by fat or cake, or both, Stiles couldn’t tell.

“You really are a fucking greedy pig.”

“Told – you.”

“Forget losing a button, not sure the tailor will be able to make anything to fit you now.”

“ _Uuurp-_ don’t – _huff-_ care.” Derek didn’t look at all perturbed that he was dressed more in frosting and scraps of fabric.

“You’re going to be rolled down the aisle at our wedding, Derek. Or maybe have you waddle down on all fours like the good pig you are. Can’t believe your belly _touches_ the ground.”

“Better…be ready to – _uuurp –_ bring me a cake next year. Not done – eating _– uuurp –_ yet…”  
  
“Of course you aren’t.”

Derek went back to eating. It was clearly getting harder for him as he grew, his movements were slower as he struggled to find the strength to stay balanced with his hips and rear getting steadily fatter and heavier, blubbery middle wobbling against his thighs, making even shuffling on all fours a challenge. His upper arms were getting flabbier and hanging down even lower, slowing his pace and his fingers were becoming more sausage like with each greedy handful.

He finally fell unto his back with a mighty belch.

“I’m…done.”

Stiles grinned triumphantly. “I told you.”

Derek feebly shook his head. “Can’t – reach more.”

“Awww…did the greedy wolf, finally eat so much he’s too fat to move?”

“…yes. ‘S your fault, Stiles. ‘S good – _huff –_ cake.”

“I’m impressed. There isn’t that much left.”

“I want to…fin – _urp –_ finish the rest.”

Stiles grabbed a handful of Derek’s side roll and shook it teasingly. “Not sure how you’re going to do that with all this flab weighing you down.”

“Feed…it to me, husband.”

Stiles leaned down and kissed the chocolate off his lips. “Mmmn. I have always wanted an immobile King to fatten up.”

“You have my hand in marriage,” Derek wheezed. “You can rule however you see fit, as long as you keep…feeding me like this.”

“Deal. Starting with the rest of the cake…”


	19. Wrapped Up Tight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Scott are a little OOC...but I had fun writing it. Another series of short moments (that hopefully make sense) that deserve to be a full fic.

“You aren’t in school anymore, boys. If you plan to spend your life in Beacon Hills, I can’t have a pack of poorly trained, reckless wolves wandering about.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I have a way that you can all stay happily in Beacon Hills and deter any further problems.”

Scott enthusiastically nodded in agreement.

Derek looked less convinced. “Or we stay and you leave.”

“We both know that won’t happen. One month. And I think I can prove this will be beneficial…for both of us.”

“He isn’t lying,” Scott pointed out. “It’s only a month. Why not?”

“Fine,” Derek agreed reluctantly, “But one month.”

“One month,” Chris promised, “and then I’ll even text the Sheriff and his kid to come get you.”

Looking far more optimistic than Derek, Scott nodded once more. They followed Chris into his house, were expecting to be led into the basement. Instead, Chris led them into the living room, a few plushy recliners in front of a large flat-screen TV. Resting over the tops of the chairs were plastic tubing, connected to large barrels, elevated on stands just behind the chairs. 

“Sit.” They did so, both looked apprehensively around, trying to sniff for any obvious wolfsbane or traps. All they could smell was lingering gunpowder around Chris and the smell of food wafting from the nearby kitchen.

He gestured to the tubes resting on the chairs. “Now, place these in your mouths.”

They both made no effort to even touch it.

“You agreed to this,” Chris reminded them. “I could go about this very differently.”

Reluctantly, they put the tubes in their mouths. Starting with Scott, then Derek, Chris poured several pints of his special wolfsbane brew, into the barrels behind them, tilting them, one after the other so the wolves were forced to chug down the contents of their tubes in rapid succession.

“That isn’t bad.” Scott panted. “What is it?”

“Just the start.”

********  
  


The wolves took to their fattening even better than Chris anticipated. After two days of being plied with wolfbane beer and cream-heavy milkshakes at all hours of the day and night, the wolves were noticeably bloated, minds floating in a drunken haze. He still got the occasional protests of more _? I’m too full. We’ve had so much…_ but even Derek had relaxed once he was convinced he wasn’t being drugged or poisoned.

Chris started to cut back slightly on the beer and milkshakes, their liquid diet being adjusted to include solid food, which they ate in their chairs, watching the television. Their focus elsewhere and the booze making them less aware, it didn’t take much of a push to get them to eat to excess.

“You can do better than that, Scott. Only one pizza? I thought you wanted to be a good pig for me.”

“Good boy, Derek. Only three more slices.”

“Scott, only one bucket of chicken today? I thought you were hungrier than that.”

“You finished all that? You’re becoming quite the good, greedy pig, Derek.

By the end of the month, Chris had both of them eating a week’s worth of calories in a day. Derek had an easily exploitable sweet tooth and would eat himself to the point of bursting if he got enough praise. On the other hand, Scott responded more strongly to goading and firm words and had a craving for junk food.

It also helped that they both turned red with shame and arousal, squirming in their chairs, when Chris teased them for the growing figures and appetites.

“I think someone likes being called a fat pig, don’t you, Derek?”

“Do you want to get big and fat for me?”

“Pigs eat more than that, Scott. You need thirds.”  
  


********

Their shirts were now stretched tightly over their thickening chest and pudgier middles. During a particularly large feeding session, Derek and Scott had started to pull at the waistband of their jeans, desperate for a little more stretch to stop the denim digging into their flesh. After a few seconds of fumbling, trying to undo the buttons, they both fell back into their chairs with grunts, pulling the tubes into their mouths and guzzling down their creamy feed. 

Chris smirked at the pair of them, too lazy and fat to unbutton their jeans or even bother to stand up and properly try. “Let’s try something new, piglets. Those pants a little tight?”

They both whined in agreement. “Yes.”

“Too bad. That happens to greedy wolves who can’t stop eating. You’re stuck like that until those buttons pop off or you burst a seam. Understand?”

“That will take forever,” Scott hiccupped. 

“Hurts,” Derek belched in agreement, trying and failing once again to reach under his gut to reach his button.

“Then you better start eating,” Chris told him coolly. “The burgers will be here in twenty-minutes.”  
  
  
********

For the next three days, the wolves ate with a ferocity like Chris has never seen from them before. So determined and desperate to be rid of the painfully tight garments, they were stuffing themselves to their absolutely limit without any extra push. Derek was the real surprise – even when Scott had tapped out and sunk back into his chair, the older man was forcing himself to take a few last swallows from his barrel. Their buttons stayed fastened, tighter than ever after their gluttonous display.

By the fourth day, Derek and Scott were already bloated on beer and shake before Chris had even brought their breakfast. He rested the pile of donuts and bacon on their gut, as leaning over was becoming a challenge. They both lay in their chairs, bellies rounding out in front of them like beached balls, moaning softly and trying to rub away the fullness.

Still stuffed, Derek reached up and shoved a donut into his mouth in one go. Then another. Halfway through his third one, he let out a burp and a huge sigh of relief as the button on his pants flew off, letting his belly push freely into his lap another inch.

“So proud of you, pig.” Derek preened, although he didn’t have long to celebrate as Chris stuffed a handful of bacon into his mouth. “Now I know how much you can eat when you’re motivated, I expect you to always eat like that.”

Scott looked over with jealousy. Now that he knew it was possible to outgrow his pants in such a way, he pushed himself further. It wasn’t until dinner the next day, half a dozen empty cartons of egg rolls, dumplings, and fried rice haphazardly resting on their sides on top of him or fallen to the floor, that he finally felt the pressure around his middle disappear as his button gave way.  
  


********

“I did promise after a month, you could leave. It’s been nearly three, so you two are free to go.”

Neither of the wolves looked pleased at the idea of leaving, but reluctantly started moving.  
  
“I guess we did say that.” Scott slurred slightly. It was a struggle for him to get out of his chair, but after a few tries of rocking their recliner slightly, he managed to get unsteadily to his feet. Derek had no easier of a time.

Chris watched in delight as they staggered around the room. Aside from very short trips to the bathroom, his fattened piglets never walked around. The lack of exercise for months, combined with over a hundred-pound gain, gave the wolves a lot to adjust to. The results were as he expected – Derek and Scott were too tipsy and too stuffed to try to escape any longer.

While they were adjusting to their new figures, Chris innocently went to the kitchen, bringing back with him two trays of cinnamon buns, still warm from the oven. Derek started eyeing them with interest.

“Maybe we could – _uurrp-_ stay a lil’ longer.” Derek mumbled.

“One more meal,” Scott agreed.

They each grabbed a tray and settled back down into their recliners. At the end of the hour, they had fallen into food comas, snoring and snorting in their sleep, frosting smeared across their pudgy cheeks.  
  


********  
  
After their short, failed chance to escape, Scott and Derek did not try to get up again for several months. Chris has them well trained- they need his permission to get up and very often, needed his help. Under their growing forms, they sunk into the chairs, full bellies making it even more difficult. Had they not always been ridiculously overfed, they could pull themselves from the chairs, but Chris made sure they were always pinned beneath the weight of their growing guts, willingly eating themselves into temporarily immobility at all times.

Which was why he was shocked one morning to hear voices coming from his spare bedroom. He stood in the doorway silently, watching them examine their wider figures in the mirror.

“Need new clothes,” Derek mumbled, turning sideways in the mirror, fingers poking into every seam that had burst around his tree-trunk thighs, the entire sides of his pants were split open, holding on only at the ankles and at the front of the waist. He craned his neck to try and see the large rip down the back of his pants. 

“Why bother? They get too tight.” Scott said, curiously poking his fattened chest and then sticking a finger into the rolls that wrapped around his back.

“How long have we been here?”

“Who cares, dude? Can’t be that long…”

“Don’t know,” Derek wondered, holding up with ball-belly with both hands, still staring at the mirror with a mix of confusion and arousal at his size. “We’ve gotten really fat.”

“Not too fat, I hope.” Chris interjected from the doorway. The wolves jumped and turned around to look at him guiltily.

“N-no.”

“I have plans for you two. But not if you can’t follow the rules.”

Derek and Scott muttered apologies.

“You know you shouldn’t be getting up without my permission. Can’t have pigs wandering around the house, can we?”

“No,” they answered.

“You will be punished for this,” Chris told them sternly. He dug through one of the bathroom drawers for a small spool of ribbon, about a half inch in width and a pair of scissors. Scott and Derek stood compliantly still as he wrapped a length of ribbon around each of them, adding a few extra inches to the measurement, before cutting it off. With each length, he wrapped a bow around their stomachs, resting just above their belly buttons. The ribbon was knotted so tightly, their blubber spilled over the top of it, emphasizing how many excess pounds they had gained.  
  
“Now, waddle back to your chairs.”

He put a hand on their backs, herding them like cattle back into the other room. “These stay on until you get fat enough to pop them off.”

“Does it have to be so tight?” Scott whined. “I feel like I’m going to pop first.”

“Guess we’ll find out. Next time, don’t disobey me.” He put both hands on Scott’s midsection and pushed, sending the man tumbling heavily into the chair. “Start eating.”

Derek, who had already collapsed back into his chair, had one hand holding the tube in his mouth while his pudgy fingers explored the length of the ribbon.

“Good hog,” Chris praised him. “Bet you only need another fifty pounds before this bursts.”

“Can’t – _uurp-_ wait,” Derek said excitedly.

******

Stiles eventually came looking for his lost Alphas. Chris ushered him into their living room, where Stiles froze at the sight in front of him.

“They’ve taken to being my pigs quite well.”

Scott and Derek were digging into bags of French fries, greased smeared across their faces, grunting and burping as they ate at their usual rapid pace. Neither of them so much as glanced in Stiles direction when he walked in. Stiles had expected to see them in a cage or wrapped tightly in a chair like hostages, and instead they looked to be imprisoned only by their appetites.

They both look like they were balloons pumped full of air. Clothes having long been reduce to stretched out and torn scraps, all of their flesh was on display. All they were wearing were a few bows fastened around them, some quite tight, others nearly falling from their middles they were so loose. Their flabby, round chests drooped down to their massive flabby guts, which were resting heavily in their laps. Wide, thick love handles spilled out over their waistbands, obscuring them from view and their equally wide thighs filling up the entirety of the chairs they were sitting on.

“What did you do?”

“We found an amicable solution for problems in Beacon Hills. Fat wolves don’t cause trouble.”

“Fat? They’re huge, Chris!”

“Hardly. They can leave at any time.”

“Sure they can,” Stiles spat. He walked over to Derek and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He looked up, but continued eating.

“Derek, are you okay?”

“' Mmm fine.”

“What’s going on? You need me to get you out of here?

“’m eating,” Derek mumbled at him through a mouthful. “Pigs are better th- _uuurp –_ than wolves. Gotta get fatter.”

“You’re already pretty fat, dude. Sure you don’t want to leave?”  
  
"Can't. Pun- _uurp-_ punished. Need - need a - _uuurp-_ few more pounds. So close to...bursting it," Derek wheezed, stuffing down a handful of fries before stuffing the tube back in his mouth for several long swallows.  
  
“Don’t – _hic –_ want to leave,” Scott called from behind him. “Chris say- _hic-_ says I need to be…bigger.”

“Does he, now?” Stiles said, turning around with an accusing look.

“Look, they clearly don’t want to leave. I’m not forcing them to eat. Watch.” He grabbed two cupcakes from the three-dozen sitting on the table and placed one within reach of the wolves, on the side of their chairs. In under a minute, they had reached out and scarfed it down. “You can try and convince them to leave – which will be no easy task – or…you can help me. Derek is becoming quite a handful.”

“Oh?” Stiles asked, feeling of arousal growing as he watched his Alphas eating. He had never seen such a display of gluttony, mesmerized by the wolves bulging bellies that were being stuffed to even rounder sizes. He wanted – needed – to know how much fatter they could get. How much those barrel sized guts could actually fit. .

“He’s gotten quite greedy,” Chris continued, poking Derek’s gut. Derek burped but made no motion to move away. “He’ll eat anything that’s in front of him. I bet he would guzzle down lard if it was chocolate flavored.”

Stiles desperately wanted to see that, and from the smirk on Chris’ face, he knew it.

“Okay.”


	20. On Thin Ice

_“Derek, see this? You_ can’t _eat this. It’s for Scott’s birthday tomorrow._ Do. Not. Eat. _You’re on thin ice already,” Stiles told him, “I haven’t forgotten having to remake half of our Christmas dinner because you ate it all the night before.”_

_“I didn’t eat that much.”_

_“Oh? So a plate of gingerbread men, the mashed potatoes, all the gravy, the stuffing, and a pie was just ‘a little’?”_

_“…I won’t eat the cake.”_

Derek had kept his resolution all day, but now that he was laying in bed, all he could think about was the cake sitting in the fridge. He tried to focus on anything else: Stiles’ fast asleep next to him, what his breakfast would be tomorrow, how his stomach was still heavily packed from dinner.

They ordered from Derek’s favorite barbeque place for dinner, treating him to a feast of potato salad, pulled pork, macaroni and cheese, collard greens and bacon, cornbread, and baked potatoes. Derek ate and ate until his breath came in shallow pants, his stomach tender and heavy, a familiar feeling that told him he could eat no more.

Stiles helped him to bed, a short walk that took Derek longer and longer to waddle, especially when he was full. He did his best to help Stiles tug his tent sized clothes off, then collapsed down on their king-size mattress, waiting for dessert. That night was a few generous portions of peach cobbler, eaten straight from the tray as Stiles blew him, mouth wrapped around whatever small part of Derek’s dick wasn’t completely buried in fat, hidden from Derek’s view by his mountainous belly.

When Derek had finished, cobbler licked clean and his orgasm leaving his blubbery body quivering and jiggling, he started falling sleep to Stiles’ loving cleaning him up and stroking his fat rolls.

Judging by the clock on his nightstand, that had only been a few short hours ago. So he was far from being hungry, yet he couldn’t stop thinking about the cake. He didn’t need to eat anything else, hell, his stomach was still slightly sore and overstuffed from dinner, but he _wanted_ to.

Making up his mind, Derek awkwardly swung himself out of bed, bed sinking in considerably, lifting his belly up so his legs could move more freely. Stiles, grown so use to Derek’s loud grunts, snores, and other explosive noises in bed, hadn’t stirred. Not bothering to pull on even a pair of boxers, he slowly made his way to the fridge.

He could smell the chocolate cream cheese icing, the thick layers of chocolate cream between the cake…it was calling out to him. _Once piece,_ he told himself, grabbing a fork, _just one small piece. Stiles won’t notice._  
  
*****

Stiles came into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes sleepily. Derek was leaning on the island, chocolate smeared over his face as he held the plate up and licked away the crumbs.

“Derek,” he said slowly, “was that cake?”

“No,” he burped.

“So if I go into the fridge, there will be the triple layer, chocolate fudge cake Scott specifically asked me to make?”

“I was only going to try a bite.”

“How’d that work for you, Big Guy?”

Stiles walked closer to him, trying to wrap his arms around Derek, as much as they would, now. It had been years since his hands could meet around the fatter man’s middle. His boyfriend’s rear also posted a problem as it had reached the size that, even pressed tightly against him, arms outstretched, he had a few inches before he reached Derek’s gut.   
  
Derek groaned and let out a deep, guttural belch as Stiles put pressure on his throbbing belly.  
  
“Don’t….too full.”

“And why is that? Because you’re so greedy you can’t control yourself around food?”

He was met with another groan.

“Come on, your back is going to be sore if you stay like this.” Stiles tugged him into the living room. Derek gratefully took a seat on the couch, although he was surprised Stiles did not lead him back to bed. He took up over half of it, tree-trunk thighs spread wide so his fat barrel of a stomach could rest between them.

“Was gonna… _Uuuurp-_ go back to bed.”

“Um….aren’t you forgetting something?”

Derek wracked his brains for something else he might have done, then shook his head.

“You broke a rule. I need to teach you a lesson so this doesn’t happen again…”

“I – did – _urrppp –_ did- _hic-_ didn’t mean to!”

Stiles leaned over his chocolate-smeared middle and kissed him. “I know, you’re more belly than brains, Der.”

He left the room for a few minutes. Derek heard him going down the basement stairs, then opening and closing the basement fridge. Derek sat on the couch, awaiting his punishment, massaging the top of his belly. There were so many soft layers of fat over his stomach, he didn’t look bloated, but when he pressed down, he could feel his sensitive belly was hard and full underneath.

Stiles emerged with a second cake, identical to the first, plopping it on his rounded middle, right between Derek’s sagging breasts. “Eat up, piggy.”

“I can’t. ‘m so full,” Derek pleaded.

“That didn’t stop you from eating the first one, did it? You just wanted cake. Needed to stuff your fat gut with something else.”

Derek was looking at the cake in front of him, more aware than ever of how he felt like an overfilled balloon, and slowly putting two and two together. There was no reason for Stiles to make a second cake…unless he knew Derek was going to eat the first.

“You knew I would eat it,” Derek huffed accusingly.

“Course I did,” Stiles said, grinning brightly. “Scott’s birthday was two months ago. I wanted to see how much self-control you had left.”

“I’m five-hundred and forty-eight pounds. That’s your – _hic-_ answer.”

“ _Only_ five-hundred and forty- eight. I promised I’d make you bigger, didn’t I?”

“Mmmmm.”

“How much bigger do you want to be, Derek?” Stiles asked teasingly, bringing a forkful of cake up to his mouth.

Derek didn’t have an answer to that question, his mind struggling to find a number large enough to fit the image of his future, larger self in his head. Thinking about how fat he would be in just another year made his mouth water and his resolve crumble. The smell of the cake was once again calling to him, begging him to open his mouth and take a bite. He experimentally prodded his belly, as if it would be somehow less full than he was a few minutes ago. His pudgy finger sank up to his knuckle in blubber.

“I – _uurp –_ ” He caved and accepted the bite of cake Stiles offered him, muffling the rest of his sentence. Then another. And another. The throbbing fullness of his belly was only being lessened by the occasional burp and Stiles starting to gently rub smoothing circles on it.

“Going to be too big for our bed soon, I think. And not much longer before you get too fat to walk around.”

“Fuck, Stiles.” Derek panted. “I – I want that. Make me immobile. Too fat to- _uurp-_ do anything but eat.”

“Deal.” Stiles told him. He brought another big forkful up to Derek’s mouth. “Now show me how much my nearly immobile pig can eat.”


End file.
